The Real Fight
by NotMarge
Summary: Cap's vision and what it means to him.


I do not own Avengers 2: Age of Ultron.

And I don't have visions. But my dreams are crazy.

The Real Fight

* * *

"What'd she get you with?"

Steve Rogers didn't answer immediately.

He couldn't.

They would be separating tomorrow, going their own ways, some of them.

Now was sort of an impromptu debriefing. Sorting through everything to see what made them weak.

What they needed to make stronger.

Or maybe it was just a therapy of sorts.

Getting it all out.

'Cause who else could they tell?

Or maybe they were just drunk talking.

Well, some of them.

They sat together in some deep, hidden room in the new compound.

Just them.

They'd all been trading their stories of what they'd suffered, envisioned at the powers of Wanda Maximoff.

Some shallowly, some deep.

Thor and his fear of allowing all of Asgard to be destroyed and brought low.

Natasha's revisitation of her past decisions (still unclear at this point just what but he wasn't about to push) that she could never change.

Tony and his vision of the destruction he had wrought upon them all, culminating in everyone's death.

Clint was the only one of their team who had been spared any such torture.

Steve didn't envy him. Much. Without Clint's clearheadedness, they might have all died or been psychologically damaged beyond repair.

And besides he'd suffered worse, done worse, for longer under the control of Loki's scepter.

So he knew.

And he was the quietest of all.

Though Bruce, their not so Jolly Green Giant wasn't present, it wasn't difficult to imagine his shame.

Rage. Uncontrollable, unstoppable rage.

Rage that obliterated everything, everyone, he sought to protect.

That was why he wasn't with them, Steve supposed.

He had removed himself so that he could no longer hurt them with his rage.

Or maybe he just couldn't face Natasha.

Maybe he was letting her go.

Because he just couldn't do it anymore.

Which brought Steve 'round again to the question.

 _What'd she get you with?_

How to explain, _really_ explain?

 _Dancing?_ Stark would jibe. _Really? Your fear . . . was dancing . . . with the woman of your dreams? Maybe you don't have a clear understanding of the word 'psychological torture', Cap. Anybody got a dictionary for our uneducated friend here?_

Even though Tony would know exactly what he meant, he wouldn't give the slightest ounce of mercy. No, not Stark. He'd probably even throw out the old 'language' snark again, just for the heck of it.

 _You know, I bet in his vision, his dancing partner even says_ swear _words when he steps on her toes._

And Steve'd be forced to take it on the nose (again) and laugh instead of punch the man.

Because how could he explain?

Knowing the truth, the battle in the reality of which he was lost from, his team that needed him.

Yet wanting, wanting so much for this to be real.

The dancing, the freedom, the smiles, the laughter.

But knowing deep inside that is was false, too bright, too loud.

And that none of it could be real.

And her.

Oh, her.

Peggy.

The one with whom he wanted to dance. To kiss. To touch.

To spend his precious little time with.

And she was encouraging him. Telling him it was over. It was okay.

And knowing it was not true.

Knowing they needed him.

And knowing the real her, would insist on him going.

No.

That was wrong.

She would be leaving him in the dust to fight forward.

But he just wanted to hold her for now.

And live in peace.

Or did he?

Did he really crave peace and quiet?

Or had he changed? Had he evolved?

Because now, he needed to let her go, get back to battle, fight alongside his team.

That was the thing that tore him apart.

His guilt.

His need, his drive, to fight against those that brought violence and injustice against the helpless innocent.

Everything else, even her, seemed to pale in comparison to that.

And it made him feel, for lack of a better word, _bad_.

Because he was a soldier now.

Captain America.

He was a fighter, a warrior.

For the cause of the freedom and peace of humanity.

The feel of his fists smashing into an enemy, putting him down so that he may hurt others no more, that was more satisfying than gazing longingly into the eyes of the only woman he had ever truly felt anything for.

Did that make him a monster?

Did that need, that drive make _him_ the bad guy?

He wanted to say no.

He wanted to believe his allegiance on the side of truth, justice, peace, and safety for those helpless innocent, made all the difference.

But what if the day came when he, they, truly achieved all that?

What place would there be for him there?

There, in that cruel dream, amid dancing, laughing, carousing citizens, there was no place for him. Truly no place.

There, dancing in the arms of the lovely, intelligent, wonderful Peggy Carter, was not home for him.

Not anymore.

So the question remained, where was?

Steve Rogers snapped back to reality as Clint Barton coughed loudly, kicking his foot 'accidently' into the coffee table Steve's foot propped against the other side of.

He stared at them as they looked back at him expectantly.

It was his turn to talk.

He couldn't listen to all of their stories and not divulge his own.

They were all warriors, fighters.

They might understand.

Or they might not.

He opened his mouth.

And didn't know what he was going to say.

* * *

 **Hey, readers! This is just me trying to make sense of why Cap's vision was supposed to be so disturbing.**

 **I'm sure you'll tell what you think ;)**

 **Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


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